


Arranging the Marriage

by denisemp



Series: Bumbling Towards Ecstacy [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2018-09-26 04:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denisemp/pseuds/denisemp
Summary: Sherlock and Molly attempt to make their dream of eloping a reality.  Their friends try and stop them.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with story #3 of my Bumbling series! You should probably read the first two, if you want this to make sense. Plus, I'd love it if you did.
> 
> Just a bit of a prologue to wet the whistle!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has followed this series and enjoyed it. I love writing. I hope this one lives up to expectations.
> 
> I own nothing, but my love for Sherlock and Molly. And all the rest of these crazy characters.

The Mycroft and Lady Elizabeth Holmes Estate

The room was chock-full of wriggling, rat-like creatures, that Sherlock assumed would some day resemble dogs, or as close to dogs as creatures fashioned “Maltipoos” would ever get.

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Lady Elizabeth Holmes were standing over a huge whelping pen that had been set up in one of the several unused workrooms, formerly servants’ quarters in a bygone era, at Mycroft’s and Elizabeth’s estate.

The puppies, eight to be exact, were currently engaged in frantic nursing, and being cleaned sporadically by their respective mothers. Lady Felicity Clover and The Duchess of Fernanda had produced two litters, of four puppies each, within days of each other, both coming through labor hale and hearty, and seemed to be doing an excellent job of nurturing their offspring. Mycroft was prodigiously and obnoxiously proud of the little buggers, and had handed out cigars all around at last week’s bowling league match, as well as passing about several photos of the wee beasts. The other bowlers had taken this in stride, knowing Mycroft to be a bit queer in the head, and even stood him a round or two at the pub after the match had ended. Sherlock was, however, the first personally invited guest to visit the nursery.

“Aren’t they marvelous!” exclaimed Mycroft, his chest puffed up, as if he himself had fathered the tiny varmints. “And so well behaved!”

As the puppies weren’t even old enough to have their eyes fully open, and spent the majority of their time either eating, sleeping or defecating, Sherlock thought that praising them for being well behaved at this point was rather jumping the gun. But, for the sake of brotherly harmony, he ventured, “they are very…sweet, indeed, Mycroft. My felicitations to you and Elizabeth.” 

Sherlock ventured a peek over at the second pen that was set up in the room, and noticed that the puppies biological father, Sir Kendrick Tilden, seemed not quite as thrilled with the situation as the humans in his life. That poor little fellow’s face was pressed against the bars of the pen, and he was looking very glum indeed. “What’s wrong with him?” asked Sherlock, gesturing to Sir Kendrick. 

Lady Elizabeth stepped over to the pen, crouched down, and began petting Sir Tilden’s fluffy head. “Poor dear,” she said. “He’s a bit jealous, I think. The ladies attention was all for him, you know, prior to their confinement. But now, of course, as happens when little ones come along, the girls are all about their babies. No time for our little man here. Much too busy. It weighs on him.” She bent and kissed the dog on the head.

“Well,” said Sherlock, “I suppose that’s just how it things go when offspring come along. All the mother’s affection and attention belong to the baby. Natural, I’d say.”

“But, of course, it’s only temporary!” Mycroft exclaimed jovially. “Why, soon, the babies will be strong enough to be gadding about on their own, and things will get back to the way they were before. When you think of it, considering the joys that come with parenthood, the inconvenience it’s a small price to pay!” Mycroft nudged Sherlock. “Don’t you think?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose.” Sherlock said absent-mindedly. “Though statistics do show that over 85% of marriages and relationships that end in divorce or dissolution do occur after the birth of an offspring. Good news for you and Elizabeth though, studies show that having a pet can add approximately 3.5 years onto the average lifespan. If you decide to keep all the little darlings you could be talking an extra 19.25 years each!” 

“Mmmmmmmm,” said Mycroft, frowning. He glanced over at his wife and raised his eyebrows.

“So, Sherlock?” asked Lady Elizabeth, “How are the wedding plans coming?”

“Oh, I’m leaving all that to Molly,” said Sherlock, waving the question away.

“To….Molly?” asked Mycroft. “Everything?”

“Yes, yes.” said Sherlock. “That’s all up to her. I’ve instructed her to tell me where and when to show up, and I assured her I would. I’m much too busy to deal with that, on top of my Matrimonial Organizational Chart. I’ve had to revise it several times already. Molly had quite a few additions and suggestions that had to be incorporated. Rather threw my whole system off. But, I suppose one must learn to compromise when one enters a marital relationship.”

“Matrimonial Chart?” asked Lady Elizabeth, in an amused voice.

“Of course!” replied Sherlock. “Duties and responsibilities. Expectations. I was surprised to learn that you and Mycroft didn’t have all the details ironed out before you hopped willy-nilly into wedded bliss.” He turned to Mycroft. “A bit slipshod, brother, I must say.”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Yes. Well. It was rather a whirlwind courtship. How is the old chart coming along?”

“Oh swimmingly,” replied Sherlock. “Now that I’ve had time to explain all the benefits, Molly and I are of quite one mind. It’s amazing.”

“Good, good. Excellent,” said Mycroft distractedly. “And Molly? She’s getting along with the wedding plans, is she? I don’t suppose you’d like to share anything with your big brother? Dates, times, dress code?” Mycroft eyed his brother suspiciously.

“Oh well,” started Sherlock, “I suppose Molly wouldn’t mind.” He gave his brother a cheery grin. “We're all family, aren’t we?”

“Indeed,” sniffed Mycroft.

“Well, let’s just say Molly is thinking…big…tremendous…gigantic, in fact.” 

Mycroft snared Sherlock with a narrow gaze. “Is she now?”

Sherlock nodded. “Oh yes! She only plans on doing this once, you know. Has her heart set on quite the spectacle! She’s thinking a theme wedding of some sort. I had to talk her out of 'Titanic.' Her favorite movie, you know. Execrable, really, but you know Molly’s taste.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother. “I had to put my foot down on that one, I’m afraid. As romantic as it sounds, having all the guests dressed up in 1930’s period costume, I simply refuse to be gadding about dressed up like that muppet Leonardo Decouprio, or whatever he calls himself. Not on my wedding day! And where would we get a boat? And then, how to sink it? No. Too much of a bother.” He leaned in a bit toward Mycroft and said confidentially, “I don’t mind telling you, brother, I fear puzzling all this out is rather taking a toll on Molly. She’s very overwhelmed, poor thing. And you know how I can be! It might be just the thing if you...reached out. Offered some of your sage advice and assistance? You’re so knowledgeable about these kinds of things.” Sherlock smiled ingratiatingly at his brother.

“Really?” said Mycroft, eyebrows raised. “You don’t think I’d be…overstepping?” 

“Oh not at all!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Why, I’m sure she’d be thrilled!”

********************

The next day.

St. Bartholomew’s Hospital - The Morgue

“Why did you tell him that?” exclaimed Molly, as Sherlock paced behind her while she worked on her third autopsy of the day. Cardiac arrest. Boring!

“To throw him off, of course, Molly.” Sherlock proclaimed. “We can’t have him getting wind of what we’re really up to.” Sherlock wandered over to a microscope and sat himself behind it, pulling out a box of slides to be analyzed. “If Mycroft had any inkling that we were planning to elope, we’d never have a moment’s peace. Everyone we know would be breathing down our necks, demanding explanations, and spouting recriminations. Including Mummy and Father!” Sherlock shook his head as he loaded a slide. “No. It’s much better this way. You can keep him busy, sending him out on wedding related tasks, and he’ll become over-involved, as he always does, and then we can go merrily along our own way, with him out of hair, and with no one the wiser!”

“But a theme wedding, Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“Of course! The more ridiculous the better, Molly. I’m sure you can come up with something ghastly.” Sherlock shrugged.

“So I’m to lie to your brother…”

“And everyone else!” proclaimed Sherlock.

“Everyone?” asked Molly.

“Everyone.” Sherlock said firmly. “Especially Mrs. Hudson. Though, they’re all a bunch of nosey-parkers. You know they are.”

Molly, who was now elbow deep in poor Mr. Kfastani’s abdomen, turned her head to glare at Sherlock. “So I’m supposed to send Mycroft off on fool’s errands? What kind of errands?”

“Wedding errands, Molly, really! Just keep him busy. Pick some revolting theme, and have him go pick out a dress, a cake, a place for the reception…”

“But we’re not having a reception!” Molly exclaimed.

Sherlock’s attention was now fully on his slide. “But Mycroft doesn’t know that, does he? Nor shall he, if you do your job correctly. Think of it as an undercover assignment”

“It seems rather cruel, Sherlock,” Molly replied, as she gathered Mr. Kfastani’s intestines to be weighed and measured.

Sherlock waved this off. “It may seem cruel now, Molly, but when we’re married and alone on a deserted island, naked, for two whole weeks, instead of sweltering in evening dress and some horrid meringue of a dress, in a boring hall, doing the Harlem Shake, surrounded by 200 people we don’t even know, you’ll be thanking me.” He lifted his head to look at her. “Do you want a wedding or a circus?”

“Would there be clowns?” Molly asked with a smile, as she placed Mr. Kfastani’s bowels on the scale.

“If we leave it up to Mycroft,” Sherlock said, “there could be an elephant!”

********************

At the same time.

The Park

Martha Hudson sat on a bench in the park, reading the Times. She wore a trench coat and sunglasses, though it was a cloudy day, and her hair was wrapped up in a scarf, closely resembling a huge, rose-colored turban.

After about five minutes, a gentleman wearing a jogging outfit and carrying a paper under one arm, and an umbrella under the other, speed-walked up to the bench. “Well. Fancy meeting you here. Is this seat taken?” he asked.

Mrs. Hudson didn’t look up from her paper. “No. No. Please do sit down.”

The gentleman seated himself, and took up his own copy of the Times, opening it in front of him.

“Well?” Mrs. Hudson whispered from behind her copy of the paper.

Mycroft Holmes sighed. “He fed me some tripe about Molly wanting nothing more than a colossal theme wedding. He even hinted that he wanted me to help her plan it!”

“Ha!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. “I told you, didn’t I? Oh that Sherlock! Thinking he could pull a fast one on us! Sneaky, asking you to help. Counting on you getting over-involved and buggering everything up, just as you always do!” 

“Excuse me?” Mycroft said, offended.

“I must say, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m horribly vexed with him, I’d be a bit proud. It’s something I’d do, isn’t it? Well, never mind. He’s not going to get away with it. After everything I’ve done! Practically gift-wrapping Molly for him, after he dithered about like a complete plonker for years! And now he thinks he’s going to whisk her off and elope! Well, he’s in for a surprise isn’t he?”

“Hmmmmm.” Mycroft replied. “I assume you want me to go ahead and over-involve myself as usual?” He asked sarcastically.

Mrs. Hudson regarded him from around the edge of her paper. “Of course! Go ahead and plan the wedding! You know you’re simply gagging to do it anyway! I’ll leave all the details to you. You’re much better at scenery than you are at strategy, dear. Hard as you try. You’ll get there though, don’t you worry. You’re working with a Master now. You just watch and learn.” She reached over and patted Mycroft’s knee. He regarded her hand, as if he longed to take up his umbrella and stab the offending appendage. His eyes moved slowly from her hand to her face. “And just how do you want me to proceed, oh Master?”

Mrs. Hudson waved him off. “Oh, just do what you always do. Take over. Pick a theme and run with it, man! You’ll have no trouble from Molly. She’s very pliable after all, eager to please. And she’ll be feeling terribly guilty about lying to you. We’ll use that to our advantage. She’s the weak link, remember. Sherlock said she wanted a huge wedding, did he? Well…give it to her. Go big, Mycroft Holmes. Go mammoth! And, of course, you must offer to pay for everything.”

“What!?” Mycroft exclaimed, lowering his paper and glaring at her.

“Of course! Remember, Molly is the one with the soft underbelly. She has no living relatives. No mother. No father. No family at all, poor dear. Though really, in a way she’s rather lucky. I remember when my late husband and I were planning our wedding. My mother and sister were so meddlesome. Poking their great noses into every little thing. We didn’t have a moment’s peace. And really, so what if he was out on bail and wasn’t supposed to leave the country? We had a wonderful disguise for him. And fake passports. No one on the Amalfi Coast would ever have been the wiser. But no! Going on and on about being accessories after the fact! And we didn’t even know about the three murders then! Oh the fuss! We ended up a the registrar’s office. Gloomy I call it. But, of course, I was glad we saved ourselves the expense when the solicitor bills started pouring in. Those robbers! Where was I? Oh yes. Of course you must offer to pay. Say you’re stepping in as head of the family. Insist! Oh I can see just Molly’s face! The horrible, gut-wrenching remorse!” Mrs. Hudson rattled her paper in excitement. “It’s perfect!”

“Oh very well,” snapped Mycroft. “But…just how far do you want me to go?”

Mrs. Hudson turned narrow eyes on him. “Think House of Windsor, Mycroft Holmes! Someplace vast enough for all our friends and family to attend. Gargantuan enough to slowly eat away at Molly’s guilty little insides, until she can’t help but agree that there’s no way they can elope.” Mrs. Hudson waved her hand. “Then, of course, we’ll scale back. Can’t make too much of a show out of it. We don’t want another Taming of the Shrew on our hands now do we?” Mycroft gave her a sour look, which she ignored. “It is too bad we can’t use that as the theme, since we already have the costumes on hand. Sherlock will never go for it though. He’ll refuse to wear the frock and wig again, lovely as he looked. And we really can’t have him outshining the bride, can we? Very bad form.” Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “And we really should invite Cyril and the crew from the TSB. You must make a note of that. Why they're practically family! And the poor dears really don’t get out enough. We’ll have to hope it’s a cloudy day. But remember, it has to happen within the next month or two. My contact at St. Bart’s told me Molly’s put in for two week’s leave in April. We’ll have to coordinate our timelines!”

“And just what will you be doing, while I’m running myself ragged planning this…extravaganza?” Mycroft asked through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Hudson grinned. “I’ll be working on Sherlock, with our inside man!”


	2. The Inside Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson sets up her inside man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of the plan.
> 
> Thanks for your comments and kudos! Here we go again.
> 
> The mistakes are mine. The ownership of these characters, unfortunately, is not.

One week earlier.

221C Baker Street

John Watson arrived home, after an overnight shift at Surgery, to find his house clean, Rosie peacefully down for her afternoon nap, and Mrs. Hudson ready with a restorative cup of tea and a plate of sandwiches. He was dragged to a chair, given a perfectly prepared cuppa and told to “Eat John! I really think you’re taking this reducing a bit too far. I admit you were looking a bit lardy for a time, but your trousers are practically falling off now. I do like a slender man, but you’ve practically no arse left at all!” 

John took this in stride, rather proud of the fact that he was now back at his army weight. It seemed that working full-time, joining Sherlock on cases when he was able, and chasing after a daughter who had graduated from crawling to racing around the flat on two legs, was good for his waistline, if not his blood pressure.

“Don’t worry about me, Mrs. H,” John said with a smile, as he worked his way though his first sandwich (delicious!), I’m eating. I’m just running around a bit more than I had been. Our girl in there is becoming quite a handful. Giving me a run for my money.”

Mrs. Hudson joined him at the table with her own cup of tea. “Don’t I know it! I had to chase her around the flat for all of half-an-hour before I could grab her to get her down for her nap. Oh my hip!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. “And you really must try and reason with her about her clothing, John. That child thrives on being au natural! She wouldn’t even let me put a nappy on her. If she didn’t look just like you, I’d swear Sherlock was her father, with this fascination with being starkers! Really! It isn’t seemly.”

“It’s a phase.” John said.

“Hmmph,” replied Mrs. Hudson. “I’m sure that’s what the doctors told Wanda Holmes as well! And look at Sherlock. No modesty at all. Why the times I’ve let myself into the flat to find him mother-naked, involved in all sorts of shenanigans. If I was the blushing type, well! It's a good thing I’m used to it. My late husband was just the same. If he was home, he was in the buff. And us with that white settee! It was a bit odd though, seeing as he insisted on keeping his socks and vest on every time we…”

“And how was your day?” interrupted John, wanting to stop that little story from traveling on to it’s natural conclusion. He gestured around the room. “You’ve been a busy bee. Thanks for cleaning up in here. You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Well,” replied Mrs. Hudson, looking down into her cup of tea, “I tend to clean when I have a problem to work through. I find there’s nothing like running the hoover or scrubbing a toilet to help me sort things out. I must say though, John, it wouldn’t hurt you to put the seat up once in a while. And you may want to watch out for a back-up in there. I’m afraid I flushed my glasses down again. I really have to get one of those chain thingees.”

John ignored the second half of this diatribe, as Mrs. Hudson’s glasses were perched on top of her head, as usual. He put the empty plate aside, picked up his tea, and asked, “You have a problem? Is it something I can help you with?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled weakly at him. “Oh no. No! Though I do thank you for asking, John. You don’t know how much that means to me. I really don’t think there’s anything you can do.” At this point, Mrs. Hudson whipped a handkerchief out her cleavage, and sniffled miserably into it. “Sometimes it just weighs on me so.” Mrs. Hudson peeped from behind the handkerchief to look at John’s concerned face. 

Careful now.

“Mrs. H!” John exclaimed, and slid his chair closer to hers, awkwardly patting her back. “There, there. It can’t be that bad, can it? You can tell me, can’t you? A problem shared is a problem halved, after all. Isn’t that what you always say?”

Mrs. Hudson patted her eyes with the handkerchief, “Yes. Yes, I do, don’t I?” 

Slowly. Don’t overdo it. 

“It’s just…I don’t want to upset you, John. And…it isn’t as if I’m supposed to know. I overheard something, you see. A secret. And I simply don’t know what to do about it.” At this point, Mrs. Hudson broke into a paroxysm of wailing tears, and buried her face once again in the handkerchief.

“Now Mrs. Hudson, you tell me what’s going on!" John said, sternly. "Has someone been saying something awful to you?” Now he was getting steamed. Goody!

Mrs. Hudson bravely pulled herself together, wiping her eyes, and regarding John with a dismal expression. “Not to me, John. It’s just that I overheard something…dreadful.”

“Sherlock?” asked John. Of course it was Sherlock. “What has he done now? Is it that blasted chart? I told Molly to ignore it…”

“No! Not that, dear. That’s just Sherlock’s usual foolishness, isn’t it? Though I must confess, I have been sneaking into the flat here and there, rearranging his graphs. Just a little joke. Puts him quite over the edge. Not that I’m sorry. He deserves it, after what’s he’s done!”

John sat back in his chair and crossed his arms at his chest. “Well? What has he done this time?”

Mrs. Hudson regarded him warily. “I’ll tell you, John, but you must promise me that you won’t let Sherlock know! He’ll be quite put out, and I’m afraid our dear Molly will pay the price.” 

“Molly?” asked John, confused. “What has she to do with it?”

Reel him in now.

“Well…it’s…I overheard a conversation, quite innocently I assure you! I was stopping by to drop off some milk and biscuits I had gotten for Sherlock at the market. Though I told him quite firmly this time, that once he’s a married man the shopping was Molly’s job, and he’s not to come around begging anymore. The idea! How many times have I told him I’m not his housekeeper? But then, if I don’t do it, he gets very cross and raises such a fuss! Threatens he’ll walk to Speedy’s in the altogether! And he’d do it, wouldn’t he? Then word would get around the neighborhood that I’m taking in nutters. Who knows what weirdos and hippies would be showing up at my door? A woman isn’t safe in her own bed anymore. It’s shameful. Why Mrs. Grimsmore down the street had a flasher the other day. I thought that went out in the 70’s! I understand he was quite well endowed, but honestly, she’s 97 years old! I’m sure she’s had her fill of…”

“Mrs. Hudson!” John exclaimed.

“Where was I? Oh, Sherlock! Anyway, I made it to the door to knock, but then I heard such a scrap! I didn’t want to intrude, of course. But what I heard…”

“Yes?” John prompted.

“Now, you must promise me, you won’t over-react, John. It’s just…oh poor Molly! She’s simply dying to get married, isn’t she? And she loves that wanker to distraction. He’s just murdering all of her dreams, John. Stomping all over them in his usual way, with not a thought to a woman’s tender feelings. The great oaf! He’s absolutely insisting! Despite Molly telling him over and over how she’s longed for a wedding just like her parents had. And they’re dead, you know. They won’t get to see their little girl walking down the aisle to the man of her dreams, as much of a prat as he is.”

At this point, John’s head was spinning. “So, Sherlock told Molly he didn’t want to get married after-all? I can’t believe that Mrs. Hudson. You must have misunderstood. I mean the effort he’s putting into that chart alone…”

“No, John! Really! Haven’t you been listening at all? I know you can be a bit thick sometimes, but this is too much! Must I explain everything? Molly’s mad for the idea of a grand, beautiful wedding. She was going on and on. Pinned all her girlish hopes on it. And that nasty git is absolutely refusing to give her what she wants. He’s insisting on eloping!”

“Eloping?” John cried, horrified. “Are you sure?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, John.” Mrs. Hudson insisted.

John leapt to his feet. “Well. I like that! After everything I’ve done!”

Bingo!

“Now, John, you promised you wouldn’t over-react!” Mrs. Hudson said.

John started pacing. “That shite! That absolute cretinous excrement-head! I can’t believe it! After everything he’s put me through! And Molly! I suppose he’s only thinking of himself. Just as he always does. What about us? What about his friends and family? Not to mention his future wife. Cheating us, that’s what he’s doing! Oh this is worse than WnkrN@hat1978!. Worse than Taming of the Shrew and the bloody Tanorexics put together!" John whirled to Mrs. Hudson. “What did Molly say?”

Mrs. Hudson regarded her wringing hands. “Well, she agreed, John. What else could she do? The poor girl isn’t getting any younger, you know. She finally got Sherlock to come up to scratch, and she’s not going to let him off the reel now, is she?” Mrs. Hudson looked up at John with sad eyes. “The worst part is….he’s cowed her into agreeing to lie to all of her friends and family. To keep quiet. That’s what dictators do, you know. Silence the masses. It’s just like Mussolini. They’re going to sneak off somewhere with not a word to any of us. And then it will be too late, won’t it? Molly, our darling girl, will never have the wedding of her dreams.” 

John was speechless. Perfect!

Mrs. Hudson sighed and dabbed at her eyes. “Well, there’s nothing we can do, is there? We’ll just have to support Molly as best we can when they get back from whatever horrible cesspool Sherlock picks for their wedding. Probably Siberia or Zimbabwe. We’ll be lucky to get our Molly back with all her fingers and toes intact, and without some sort of flesh-eating disease.”

John put his hands on his hips and glared at her. “Who are you, and what have you done with Martha Hudson?”

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Hudson said, looking up at him with wide, tearful eyes, hands clasped to her chest.

“There’s nothing we can do? Of course there is! Stop them!”

“Stop them?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “How?”

“I don’t know how!” John cried, throwing his hands up into the air. “That’s what I have you for! You’re the underhanded one. The one with all the devious plots. Think of something! Put that deceitful brain of yours to work, and let’s rescue Molly’s wedding!”

“Do you really think…” Mrs. Hudson began, then stopped and shook her head. “No, John, it’s quite, quite impossible!” 

If there was one thing Martha Hudson knew about John Watson, it was that if you told him something was impossible, he’d want to prove you wrong!

“You’re wrong, Mrs. H.” See? “We can do it. Let’s put our heads together, and come up with a scheme to give Molly the wedding she deserves. The wedding WE deserve. And bugger Sherlock!” He was really getting into it now. Oh she had him!

Suddenly, Mrs. Hudson jumped up from her chair and pointed at John. “You have never been more right, John Watson! What was I thinking? Look who you’re talking to after all. Of course we can do it." She put her finger to her lips, thinking. "We’ll need help. And you’ll have to be my inside man.” John nodded emphatically in agreement. Hurrah! “It will take some serious calculation and unscrupulous conniving though…I think we had better bring Mycroft on board as well.”

John winced at this. “Do you think that’s a good idea? His plans tend to….”

“Go all to shite,” Mrs. Hudson finished, nodding. “Yes, I know, dear, but he’s actually very crafty in his own way. And he is Sherlock's brother. He has a vested interest in this. He can be of use, I'm sure. I know! We can put him on Molly. He can take her out looking at dresses, tasting cakes, touring venues and the like. Build her confidence, you understand. We’ll get her so stirred up at the idea of her dream wedding, that she won’t be able to go through with eloping. She'll have to stand up to Sherlock some day. Best she figures it out now, rather than after the ring’s on her finger. She has to learn to handle him, after all, or her life will be nothing but organizing his sock drawer and fetching his phone. She just needs a little…push in the right direction. And Mycroft owes me a favor, remember, after saving his bacon with the TSB.” Mrs. Hudson nodded. “Yes. I like it. We’ll put Mycroft on Molly. And she won't be able to protest or say a word, without giving up Sherlock's nasty little secret."

Mrs. Hudson put her hand on John's arm. "That will leave you and I to take care of Sherlock.”

John rubbed his hands together. “And what will we do? Will it involve violence? A little blood perhaps?”

Mrs. Hudson waved this away. “Really, John! Think of the wedding photos! You men! Always wanting to fight when a little finesse will do just as well. No. I’m thinking distraction for Sherlock. Distraction and vigorous encouragement to matrimony.”

“I don’t follow,” said John, confused.

“We distract him from any plans of eloping. Keep him busy. And we’ll strongly encourage him toward getting married sooner rather than later. The timing must be just right, of course. We get him into place, just as the wedding plans have shaped up. We’ll make him so desperate to get Molly to the alter, that the where, when and how simply won't matter.”

“Alright,” said John nodding. “I like it. But...how do we do that?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly at him. “The easiest thing in the world! That old stand by, John…the green-eyed monster.”


	3. Twins and Dwarfs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Sorry it took so long. Real life and work interfered. Updates should be come more frequently now. A little set up chapter before the real fun begins.
> 
> Thanks for all of the encouragement. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and what's to come.
> 
> I own nothing!

The following week.

Molly Hooper’s flat - morning

Molly was sitting cross-legged on her sofa, wearing fuzzy pajamas and her coziest dressing gown, sipping a cup of tea and browsing through her text messages. Sherlock was off on a case with John, and she hadn’t seen him much over the past week. However, he had managed to text her every day to let her know that he was alive, and that he hadn’t been kidnapped by any arch-villains (a real concern), fallen into pit of poisonous vipers (this only happened once), or been knocked out, reprogrammed, and was now living the life of a pharmacist in East Lothian (not impossible, given that the case involved a brainwashing Scottish dentist. “A Nine, Molly!”). Sherlock had texted her early this morning to let her know that the criminal had been apprehended, and that he and John were wrapping up, and would be returning within the next day or so. He also informed her that John had spent several hours the previous evening, thinking that his name was Johanna Wasden, and that he was a cross-dressing nightclub performer of some renown. “Even slimmed down, John still can’t pull off the tights, Molly. And his voice is rubbish! Don’t worry. Have it all on video.”

Molly smiled as she read and re-read the adieu of this text, which was, as usual,…”I love you madly. Sx.”

Molly stretched luxuriously on her sofa, and reached over to scratch Toby behind the ears. Her life was wonderful! She was off work, and had an entire day to herself to do just as she pleased. When he returned, Sherlock was planning on running down to visit his parents, and engage his mother’s help with their plan to elope. Mummy Holmes, it seemed, was quite on board with their plan, and had some ideas of where they could go to be quietly married and spend two weeks doing nothing more than eating, sleeping and shagging. She couldn’t wait! Of course there was still the problem of the rest of their friends and family, who would no doubt be very put out and cross with them when all was said and done, but Molly was convinced that once she and Sherlock were back (Married!) and had treated their friends to a wonderful party to celebrate their clandestine nuptials, that all would be forgiven. Well, maybe not Mrs. Hudson, but then she could be quite vindictive. They would have to get her a gift of some kind. A large one. Perhaps a new cuckoo clock for her mantel. Or a weapon of some sort. Sherlock would know just the thing.

There was a knock at her door, and Molly sighed. Probably the postman again. Mrs. Hudson had continued her onslaught of sexual education via instruction manual. Molly now had two crammed shelves devoted to sex books, romance novels with pages marked and sections highlighted, and a plethora of smutty magazines. Mr. Pradeep, her postman, had taken to leaving them on her doorstep, knocking quickly and beating feet, too embarrassed to even look at her. Last week she received by special delivery, a box wrapped in plain brown paper, that she was still hadn’t worked up the courage to open, as she could hear something inside vibrating, rattling and making chirping noises. Though Sherlock had wanted her to take it down to the Station and have Greg X-ray the contents, the return address on the box had been to a company called “Glynda’s Genital Electric,” so Molly felt fairly safe that it was not an explosive device of any kind. And she certainly wasn’t going to let Greg have a look at it. She’d never hear the end of it! Or he’d nick it, and she’d end up opening in front of an audience at next year’s Christmas gift swap.

Molly heaved herself up from the sofa and made her way to the door, wondering if she was going to be facing a sex swing, or some sort of spanking machine this time. Mrs. Hudson had a tendency to up her game. 

As she pulled the door open, she found no sexual apparatus of any kind, but only a perfectly turned out Mycroft Holmes. Oh dear. Was it beginning already?

“Mycroft!” Molly cried. “What are you doing here?” As if she didn’t know.

Mycroft smiled at her. “Do I need an excuse to visit my future sister-in-law? I thought we were better friends than that, Molly!”

Well, she had promised Sherlock. “Of course we are!” Molly cried gayly. “Come in!” She stepped back and let Mycroft enter, closing the door behind him. “Sit down. Can I get you something? A cup of tea? I was just having one.”

“Tea would be perfect!” Mycroft said pleasantly, as he went to sit on the sofa. He eyed Toby warily as he sat, but the creature merely opened one eye for a moment, and apparently deemed Mycroft no threat. He went back to sleep.

“Biscuits?” Molly asked, as she made her way into the kitchen. “I just baked them yesterday!”

“I’d never turn down your biscuits!” Mycroft replied, rubbing his hands together.

“What can I do for you today?” Molly called from the kitchen as she prepared a tray. “Or is this a social call? Checking up on me for Sherlock?”

“For Sherlock?” Mycroft asked. “No, of course not! You are a grown woman after all, Molly. No, no. I actually came to offer my assistance.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Oh why did she agree to this? Molly re-entered the room, carrying her old-fashioned tea tray, loaded down with a steaming pot and a plate piled high with biscuits. She placed the tray in front of Mycroft, and sat her self beside him. “Shall I be mother?” She asked.

Mycroft nodded, already reaching for a biscuit. Chocolate! His favorite.

“You said you came to offer assistance?” Molly asked, as she handed him a cup of tea prepared just as he liked it.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied, dunking a biscuit. He looked up at Molly with a grin. “I’m here to assist you with planning your wedding, of course!”

Of course. Well, here we go. She was ready for this. “How wonderful!” Molly gushed, hands to her cheeks. “But are you sure you have the time? I know how busy you are with your work and the puppies.”

“Oh Molly!” replied Mycroft leaning over and patting her knee. “You know I’m never too busy for you! And Sherlock tells me you’ve been having a bit of trouble deciding on a theme. I do like a theme wedding, I must confess. Very whimsical. Why don’t you tell me your thoughts on the matter, and perhaps we can arrive at a decision. We must have a plan to go forward. We need to get you and my brother married right and tight. Don’t want you changing your mind, now do we?”

Mycroft smiled ingratiatingly. Molly took a sip of tea. Her throat was suddenly very dry. She had warned Sherlock that she was a terrible liar. Everyone said so.

“My thoughts?” She asked.

“Yes, yes,” Mycroft said. “What ideas have you come up with so far?”

Molly grabbed a biscuit and shoved it in her mouth, trying to buy some time to think.

“Sherlock tells me he nixed your Titanic idea. Too bad, really. That could have been rather fun. A maritime theme. Period dress. Though of course, I must agree that it would have been rather difficult to actually sink the boat. Messy and damp for the guests. But it really wouldn’t be Titanic without the big finish would it? Though we could have had them all seated in life rafts.” Mycroft rubbed his chin. “I don’t suppose Sherlock would change his mind…”

“No! I really don’t think so, Mycroft.” Molly exclaimed, imagining 200 wedding guests flailing around in the open sea, their heavy evening wear pulling them under for the last time. “Sherlock seems to have taken quite a passionate dislike to Leonardo DiCaprio. And I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. It’s his wedding too, after all.”

“Hmmmm.” Mycroft replied. “I suppose. A shame. Well, what else?”

“Ummmmm.” Molly’s mind was a great black void. A vacuum of nothingness. She couldn’t think under Mycroft’s penetrating stare. She began to sweat, as she raced through the memories of all the weddings she had ever attended over the past ten years, and the closest she could come up with to a theme wedding was John and Mary’s - but of course that theme turned out to be murder. Sherlock had told her to think big! What was big?? Oh she’d never planned on having to do any of this! She wanted a wedding not a circus! 

Oh.

“The circus!” Molly cried.

Mycroft choked on a sip of tea. “Pardon me?” he asked.

Oh Brilliant! “The circus. I’ve always loved it. Since I was a little girl. I used to go with my father to every traveling circus and carnival that came through town. What do you think of that?” Molly peeked over at Mycroft to see how he was taking this! He was stunned silent! Hurrah!

Then, he placed his cup of tea down on the table, turned to her and grabbed both her hands. “I love it!” He exclaimed!

Oh no. “You…do?” Molly asked.

“Of course! Oh this is brilliant! A circus might be too much for us to take on. Too many permits needed for the animals. Not to mention the dung. A shame, since I know a chap who has an elephant. But, a carnival! Now that we could do! Rides, games of chance, a bit of burlesque. It’s genius! It’s absolutely, positively Sherlock! Oh Molly, you’ve outdone yourself!”

“It is? I have?”

“I can see it now.” Mycroft exclaimed waving his arms about. “Outside, under the starry sky. A ferris wheel and carousel at least, of course! We can have the guests go from booth to booth and play games to win wedding favors! And the food! Funnel cakes, chips, cotton candy! Oh marvelous. And I can see you and Sherlock now! You can be dressed as a magician and his assistant. A beautiful flowing frock for you, a tuxedo for him. Sherlock will love it! You know of his obsession with Harry Houdini, yes? He learned to perform several illusions as a child. I wonder if we could have him do a few tricks for the guests, while waiting for you to come down the aisle? And after the ceremony, he could saw you in half! It’s brilliant!”

“But..but…” Molly stuttered.

“Oh and the wedding party would join in, of course.” Mycroft was off and running now, his eyes closed, arms waving back and forth, painting a verbal picture. “I see John as a old time strong man, with a handle-bar mustache. If we can get Greg to start growing a beard now, he’d make a perfect dog-faced boy!”

Molly was horrified.

“I could be the carnival barker. Straw hat, cane, with a pin-striped suit. Very natty! And I know Elizabeth would love to participate as well. Hmmmm. The bearded lady perhaps, or I may still have that fat suit hanging about somewhere. I’ll have to make a note.” Mycroft pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket and began scribbling.  
  
“I can certainly see Mrs. Hudson as a fortune teller or spiritualist of some kind. They’re all charlatans, aren’t they? Perfect!.” He continued writing manically. “I happen to know a pair of co-joined twins. Very rare these days. Ernst and Phinst Zeckelman. I’ll have Anthea give them a call. They love a laugh. And I wonder if the Maggiano dwarfs are still in the country? An old fashioned freak show. Though of course it’s not politically correct to call it so. Oddities? Yes, much better.” Mycroft began crossing things out and rewriting. “A fun-house! Oh dear, so much to do!” He checked his watch.

Mycroft snapped the notebook closed and returned it, and the pen, to his pocket. He stood suddenly, clapping his hands. “Well! That was very productive! Good show, Molly! I have enough here to get started. Leave it to me. I’ll be in touch in a few days once I have a tentative outline. Thank you for the tea.” He began making his way to the door.

“I…I…” Molly started, “…but…wait! Mycroft, where are we going to find a venue for such a thing, and rides and booths and all that!?” she cried. What had she done? This was going too far. No matter what Sherlock said. Now they were involving twins and dwarfs and who knows what else! Oh, what to do? What to do?

Suddenly an Idea occurred to her. “I swore to Sherlock that I’d keep to a budget, Mycroft. We really can’t afford to pay for all of…”

Mycroft waved this away. “That’s really not a concern, Molly, as I’ll be taking care of all the expenses.”

What?

Molly jumped to her feet. “What?” Oh holy hell. “ All the…I can’t allow you to…”

Mycroft cut her off, holding up a hand. “I must insist, Molly. I know that you have no family of your own. But soon, you’re going to be Sherlock’s wife, and my sister. I simply couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t have the grand wedding you’ve always dreamed of, simply because of something as tawdry as a…budget!” Mycroft pronounced the word “budget,” as if he were saying “rectum.”

Molly tried again, fisting her hands on her hips, and giving him her most stern look. “Mycroft Holmes! You really cannot just insist on…”

“But I do!” Mycroft said firmly, interrupting her again. He regarded her with serious eyes. “Sherlock is my brother, after-all. And it’s no secret that I have the funds. It will be a mere pittance to me, Molly. But what’s more important than money…more precious to me…is that my little brother is finally happy. And you’ve done that for him. You must allow me to do this for you.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “And, if I may be so bold, I’d consider it an honor if you’d let me stand in for your father, and walk you down the aisle.” He bowed his head, and looked at his feet. “In fact, nothing would make me happier.”

Mycroft’s voice cracked on the word “happier,” and Molly felt her eyes fill with guilty tears. She was the biggest…the fattest…the most wretched liar, liar, pants on fire, on the face of the planet.

“Oh Mycroft!” she cried, and rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

Mycroft returned the gesture, squeezing tightly, and, behind her back, smiled his shark-like grin.

And then, suddenly, there was another loud knock on the door.

Molly pulled back, wiping at her eyes. Mycroft assumed a of mien of acute embarrassment, coughing a bit and scraping the toe of his shoe across the floor. “Are you expecting someone?” He asked.

“No.” Molly sniffled. “It’s probably just another delivery.” Molly moved to the door and pulled it open.

She was greeted by the sight of an absolutely enormous arrangement of flowers. Daisies. Her favorites! And in every color imaginable it seemed. The bouquet was so huge, that she couldn’t even see the head of the delivery person. “Dr. Molly Hooper?” asked a disembodied male voice.

“Yes, that’s me.” Molly replied. They were gorgeous! Oh, Sherlock!

A head peered around the bouquet. A youngish man, with a receding hairline and large blue eyes. He blinked at her, then looked beyond her to Mycroft, and back again to Molly. “Flowers for you, Miss…uh…Doctor, I mean.” He thrust the bouquet at her.

“Thank you!” Molly cried after him, as he turned and scurried back toward his delivery van. What a strange little fellow.

“Well, well, well!” Mycroft said, as Molly stood in the open doorway of her flat, examining the beautiful flowers. “Sherlock seems to have learned a few things after all. Flowers! And your favorites, too. Very thoughtful. How unlike him.”

Molly smiled. “I confess, I am a bit surprised myself. But, he has been away quite a bit over the past few weeks. This is very sweet of him.”

“Mmmmmm,” Mycroft agreed. He pointed at the arrangement. “I believe there’s a card.”

“Oh!” laughed Molly. “Of course. Do you mind?” She handed the flowers to Mycroft and ripped open the envelope.

She read the card aloud.

“If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhh,” Molly sighed, holding the card to her chest.

“Tennyson,” Mycroft said, nodding. “Very Romantic. I’m amazed!”

Mycroft held the bouquet out to Molly, and she took it back, burying her nose in the petals.

Mission accomplished. Time to go.

“I’ll be off then!” he said cheerily. Molly nodded, face still planted in the flowers.

“I’ll give you a call in a few days, shall I? To go over our plans.”

Another nod.

“Molly!” Mycroft cried sharply, and Molly’s head snapped up. In a love fog. He recognized the signs. Excellent.

“Sorry! Yes. Call me. Our plans,” Molly nodded dreamily.

“Very good.” Mycroft stepped out of the open doorway, but then leaned back in at the last moment to say, “Please make sure you tell Sherlock how impressed I was with the flowers, Molly. Really. He’s come a long way since your first date, my little brother, hasn’t he?”

Molly laughed. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

Mycroft smiled widely. “Please do. Don’t forget now!” Then he was back out the door, and on his way, whistling as he went.

********************

Approximately the same time.

Somewhere in Scotland

“Remind me again why we’re not flying back?” John asked, as he maneuvered the rented vehicle along a particularly narrow road, through the hills and valleys of the Scottish countryside.

“And miss this time alone together?” Sherlock asked, as he read through his text messages, slumped in the passenger seat. “I wouldn’t dream of it. We get so little best-friend time lately, John. And we’ll have less of it once Molly and I are married, you know.”

“Mmmmmmm.” replied John. “So you couldn’t get Scotland Yard to foot the bill for a flight then?”

“Nope,” replied Sherlock, popping the P crisply, “the money-grubbing dossers. Happy to have us do all the work though, aren’t they? Greg will owe us one for this.”

“He’ll owe ME one,” replied John. “You weren’t the one who ended up on stage wearing a negligee, singing ‘I’m Coming Out’ to a packed house.

“Oh don’t exaggerate, John” Sherlock scoffed, “it was fifteen or twenty old boozers at most.”

“You DID delete that video, yeah?” John asked anxiously.

“Of course,” Sherlock replied, as he attached and sent the video to Molly, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and the other bowling league members. “We have plenty of evidence without it.”

“Good.” John replied, relieved. “Don’t want that showing up on You Tube, do I?”

“Absolutely not!” agreed Sherlock with a smile, putting away his phone.

“You sent it to Molly already, didn’t you?” accused John.

“Molly is much too busy planning our wedding to be bothered with silly videos, John. Really, it’s as if you don’t trust me at all.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“And how are the old wedding plans coming, Sherlock?" John inquired. "Molly hasn’t mentioned anything to me.” 

“Oh very well. She texted me that Mycroft was over today. Offering to assist. I’m sure things will come together swimmingly,” Sherlock said absently, looking out the side window at the passing scenery.

“That’s good.” John replied. “You don’t want to make her wait too long do you? She might change her mind.”

Sherlock merely huffed at this.

“Speaking of which, Dr. Carmichael was asking after her at the hospital the other day. He was quite smitten with our Molly, wasn’t he?”

Sherlock’s head whipped around to face John.

“Dr. Brad? What did that grinning wanker want?” Sherlock growled.

“Hmmmm?” asked John. “Oh? Nothing really. Just asked how she was getting on. Said he hadn’t seen her around the canteen lately.”

“So he was looking for her?” Sherlock asked, suspiciously.

“Must have been,” John said nodding.

“That smiling sod!” cried Sherlock. “He knows she’s engaged. To me!”

John laughed. “He was only making conversation, Sherlock. Really! You don’t have anything to worry about. Molly would never be interested in someone like him.”

Sherlock calmed a bit at this.

“He is very fit though,” John said thoughtfully. “And an amazing doctor. You should see the nurses going all dreamy-eyed every time he walks by. Revolting really. Just because he’s good looking. And a pediatric trauma specialist. And volunteers at that animal shelter.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“But," John said philosophically, "Molly’s engaged to you now, Sherlock. Just because Brad is carrying a bit of a torch, doesn’t mean anything would come of it. Though, I suppose someone like Brad might see her as fair game until she’s actually married. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a bit of a player.”

“A player?” Sherlock asked, “what does that mean? Some kind of lothario?”

“Yeah,” John replied. “You know the type. Thinking they can have whatever they want, just because they’re movie-star handsome, brilliant and arrogant. But, like I said, Molly wouldn’t fall for that type.”

Sherlock glared at John’s profile. Then he pulled out his phone and began texting.

“What are you doing?” John asked.

“Will Mrs. Hudson keep Rosie overnight, if need be?” asked Sherlock, fingers moving blindingly fast.

“Of course,” said John. “But why? Who are you texting?”

“Mummy,” Sherlock replied succinctly, head bent over his phone. “We’re going to make a stop at my parents’ on our way home. There’s something I must discuss with her, and it can’t wait!”

John didn’t reply. But he grinned. Broadly. Score one for the inside man.


	4. Mummy Knows Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy Holmes gives good advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back at it after a very (very) long period of writer's block. I promised I would finish this trilogy, and here I am.
> 
> This is just a very short set-up chapter for what comes next, and so I can post something and get the creative juices flowing again! 
> 
> A bit of John and Timothy. A little more of Sherlock and Wanda. 
> 
> A wee bit of Molly.
> 
> If anyone is still out there, I own nothing, except high hopes.

Later that afternoon.

Timothy and Wanda Holmes’ house

Sherlock used his key to let he and John into his childhood home. Even as they stepped over the threshold he was yelling, “Mummy! Father?”

Timothy Holmes appeared in the doorway of the front parlor. “Sherlock? And John. What are you two doing here?”

Sherlock began shedding his overcoat and scarf, hanging them on the coat-tree at the entrance. Then he proceeded to strip John of his outer garments, in a rather rushed and rough manner. He threw John’s coat at the rack, where it missed the mark and fell to the floor. “Just off a case, Father,” Sherlock said briskly, poking his head into the front parlor. “I need to speak with Mummy. It’s rather urgent. Is she home?”

Timothy looked between Sherlock and John, concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Sherlock waved his concern away. “Is she home?”

Timothy glanced at John, who shrugged.

“She’s in the kitchen, Sherlock. It’s almost time for tea. She’ll be very happy to see you both. Come in and join us.” He gestured toward the parlor.

“I’ll just pop in the kitchen and see if I can be of any assistance,” Sherlock offered, and took off toward the back of the house, like his arse was on fire, leaving his father and John alone in the entryway.

“What’s got his corn popping?” asked Mr. Holmes looking at John with some amusement.

“Oh, he’s all in a dither about Molly.” John replied matter-of-factly.

“Molly?” Timothy asked.

“Yes,” said John with a smile. “He’s got it into his head that Dr. Carmichael, you remember him from the night Sherlock and Molly got engaged?, is pining for Molly. It’s driving him round the bend a bit. You know how he is.”

Timothy scratched his head, looking at John quizzically. “How did he get that daft idea?”

“Oh, I told him.” John replied sunnily.

Timothy eyed John. “And why would you do a damn fool thing like that?”

“Do you have anything stronger than tea in there?” asked John, indicating the front parlor.

Now Timothy looked intrigued. “I may have a bottle of whiskey. For medicinal purposes.”

John nodded. “I’ll take a bit of that. It’s a rather long story, and something tells me Sherlock might be a while.”

Timothy gestured for John to proceed him into the room. “After you, Johanna.”

*************************

A few minutes later.

Wanda and Timothy Holmes’ kitchen

“It’s a terrible idea!” Wanda Holmes shook her head at her youngest son, as she gathered the necessary items to prepare a tea tray.

“But Mummy…” Sherlock whinged.

“Sherlock, really! What is this about?” She began pouring boiling water into a waiting teapot. “Everything is all set for the end of April. I can’t just call Lady Foster at this late date and tell her I want to move everything up to next week. The house is probably let.” She finished pouring the water and turned to her son, who was sitting sullenly at the table, fashioning her cloth napkins into perfect swans.

“Well, couldn’t we go somewhere else?” Sherlock asked, concentrating on the neck of his swan. “What about the South of France? The place you sent Mycroft and Lady Elizabeth off to on THEIR sex holiday.”

Wanda came and sat at the table with Sherlock, stilling his hands as he appeared to be choking the life out of his latest creation.

“You want to take Molly to a naturist beach for your honeymoon? Really Sherlock? I know you don’t give a fig, but Molly is very modest. I don’t think it would be her bag of crisps at all.”

Sherlock stopped choking the swan at this, and seemed to think better of the idea. “Yes,” he muttered to himself. “They’d all be looking at her. We’d never get any peace.” He went back to choking the swan.

“Sherlock!” his mother said, irritated, slapping at his hands. “Stop assaulting my napkins and tell me what is going on. Why the sudden rush to get married next week?”

Sherlock grumbled a bit and ripped apart his latest creation, beginning again. “I’ve just been thinking that it’s better if Molly and I are married sooner rather than later, that’s all.” He avoided looking directly at his Mother’s piercing gaze.

She sighed. “What did you do this time?”

Sherlock’s head popped up. “Nothing Mummy!” Wanda raised a single eyebrow at her son.

“I swear!”

“Then why the sudden urge to move up the date Sherlock?” Sherlock opened his mouth, but Wanda held her hand up. “And don’t lie. I always know.”

This was nothing but the truth. Wanda Holmes was singular in her ability to tell when either of her sons were fibbing…or worse. Sherlock and Mycroft, even with their genius IQ’s, had never been able to pull one over on her. Not once. She was remarkably like Mrs. Hudson in this way. She could sniff out a falsehood from fifty paces.

Sherlock suddenly tossed the napkin aside. “Do you remember Dr. Brad?” he asked with a sneer, and added “the great smiling arse-licker.”

“Sherlock, language!” his mother scolded. “You mean that nice young doctor who treated Rosie? Of course I remember him.”

“Nice,” Sherlock spat disgustedly. “Well, Mummy, that nice young doctor, as you say, is sniffing around after my Molly Hooper!” Sherlock sat back in the chair and crossed his arms at his chest, lifting both eyebrows at his mother, as if to say, “What do you think of that?”

“Sniffing around?” Wanda asked bewildered. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sherlock began, leaning forward intently. “John says, that Dr. Brad said that he was looking for Molly. That he hadn’t seen her for a long time, and he was wondering how she was!”

Wanda looked confused. “And?”

Sherlock threw his hands up in the air. “AND he was looking for her. And he’s a pediatric trauma specialist. And he likes animals. Probably even cats. And Molly has a cat!”

Wanda Holmes eyed her son for a moment. Then her lips began to turn up at the edges. Then there was giggling.

“Mummy!” Sherlock cried, incensed. “Are you laughing at me? At a time like this? That chuffer is probably home right this minute, polishing his giant white teeth, and plotting how he’s going to…how he wants to…He wants to be a player with my Molly!” 

“Oh Sherlock!” Wanda Holmes cried, trying to stifle her giggles. “You DO realize how ridiculous you sound?”

Sherlock continued to glare.

Wanda sobered suddenly. Then sighed. She reached out her hand and covered one of Sherlock’s. “You don’t, do you?” 

Sherlock looked down at their hands, then back up at his mother. “I’m jealous,” he whispered miserably. “And I know it’s insane. What’s wrong with me? Any time a man talks to her, or even looks at her...I hate feeling like this all the time. If we were only married…”

Wanda Holmes got up from her chair and moved around the table, sinking down beside her son, and putting a comforting arm around him. “You’re in love, Sherlock.” She squeezed him and tilted her head to lean against his. “You listen to your mother. I’ve been married to your father for forty-seven years, and sometimes, even now, if I catch that Arlene Timmons from the rectory smiling at him for too long, I want to scratch her eyes out!”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh at this. 

Wanda smiled wryly. “What I’m trying to tell you, Sherlock, is that being married doesn’t change anything. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you’re probably always going to feel this way…if you’re lucky.”

Sherlock cringed. “How do you stand it?”

Wanda pulled back a bit, and turned his head toward her. Their blue/grey eyes, so much alike, met, and hers were amused, but kind. “Well Sherlock, I simply have to trust that your father feels the same way about me. He loves me too, you see. And he’d never do anything to hurt me. I trust him.” She raised her eyebrow at Sherlock.

Sherlock was silent for a beat. Then he gave his mother a small smile, and gently kissed her cheek. 

Wanda got to her feet and moved to the tea tray, placing the pot in the middle and then adding a plate of sandwiches and another of biscuits. “So, about that naturist beach…” she began.

Sherlock stood and gathered up his four perfect swans, placing them on the tray. “Thank you, Mummy, but no. I believe we’ll stick to the original plan.”

*************************

Later that same evening.

Molly Hooper’s Flat

There was a sharp knocking at the door.

Molly heaved herself off of her sofa, dumping Toby from her lap, and moved toward the door of her flat tentatively. Another delivery? Surely not. Earlier this afternoon, another “care package” from Mrs. Hudson had arrived. It was the size of a shirt box, and since there were no suspicious noises coming from within, Molly had felt fairly comfortable opening it, thinking perhaps it was lingerie. No. She was now the proud owner of handcuffs, a cock ring, a very large dildo, two sets of anal beads, two butt plugs, a pair of nipple clamps, something that looked like a feather duster and enough lubricant to take her through her menopausal years. Needless to say, Mrs. Hudson was, as expected, upping her game.

Molly opened her door a crack and peered nervously out. She was very surprised indeed to see who was standing on her front porch.

“Brad!” she exclaimed, opening the door fully to reveal none other than that pediatric trauma specialist and lover of animals, Dr. Bradley Charmichael. “What are you doing here?”


End file.
